


Take Care of Him

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Arguing, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 22:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10728873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: Carisi gets a job offer. Barba is none too pleased.





	Take Care of Him

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally wrote another Barisi fanfic. I was not planning on it, but alas, here we are. 
> 
> Set sometime during season 18, though it isn't based on any particular episode.
> 
> I am as always open to constructive criticism, especially if writing these two ends up becoming a habit.
> 
> Usual disclaimer - I don't own them, because if I did, season 18 would be going so much differently. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.

Barba opened the door to his apartment and dropped his briefcase rather unceremoniously on the floor. “Honey, I’m home,” he called, loosening his tie and all but collapsing in the armchair. 

Carisi poked his head out from the kitchen. “Don’t call me honey,” he said, grinning, though his smile faded slightly when he saw Barba slumped in the chair. “Bad day at work?”

Waving a dismissive hand, Barba sighed and leaned his head back. “Is it ever not a bad day at work?” he mused, more to himself than in answer to Carisi. “But no, not a particularly bad day. Just long. I was in a Grand Jury hearing for five hours with what may very well be the world’s stupidest jurors.”

“Sounds like you need a drink,” Carisi said, disappearing back into the kitchen and reappearing only moments later with a glass of scotch.

Barba’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Thank you,” he said cautiously as he accepted the glass. “Are you cooking dinner?”

“Yeah,” Carisi said with his usual grin. “Manicotti. My grandma’s recipe. I know how much you love it.”

If possible, Barba looked even more suspicious. “So you’re making me dinner and you poured me a drink...what’s wrong?”

Carisi pouted slightly. “Something has to be wrong for me to make you dinner?”

Barba raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his scotch. “Have to be wrong? No. But previous evidence would suggest—”

“Previous evidence?” Carisi asked, laughing slightly. “C’mon, Counselor — not everything has to be a court case.”

Barba slowly stood, something almost sly in his expression. “If this  _ were _ a court case, and you were trying to rule prior evidence irrelevant, I would argue that it speaks to a pattern of behavior, and I happen to be pretty good at getting judges to go along with me.”

Carisi hummed in agreement as Barba crossed over to him. “Yeah, but unfortunately, there’s no judge here to rule one way or another.”

“Shame,” Barba said, resting one hand lightly against Carisi’s chest. “Because then it seems like we’re at an impasse.”

“Is that so?” Carisi asked, leaning down, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And what are we gonna do about it?” Barba smiled and was about to answer when the timer dinged in the kitchen. “Actually — hold that thought.”

He pulled away from Barba, who groaned and returned to the armchair to fetch his glass of scotch. “So heaven forbid we actually get back on topic,” he said, following Carisi into the kitchen, “but something is going on, and the sooner you tell me what it is, the better it’ll be for you.”

“Who says I want things to go better for me?” Carisi asked, pulling the manicotti out of the oven.

“Touché,” Barba said with a chuckle as he topped off his glass of scotch.

Carisi hesitated for a second midway through dishing out the manicotti. “But while we’re on the subject of things I need to tell you,” he hedged, and Barba grinned triumphantly.

“I  _ knew _ there was something you weren’t telling me. And believe me, I’ll  be adding this to your patterns of behavior for use in future cases.”

Carisi glared at him as he set the plate in front of Barba with perhaps more force than was necessary. “Do you want me to actually tell you or are you just satisfied gloating about being right?”

“That depends,” Barba asked, sprinkling parmesan over his manicotti. “Is whatever you’re going to tell me going to ruin the manicotti? Because if it is, I’d rather we left it until the end of the meal.”

While Carisi rolled his eyes, he nonetheless let Barba tuck into dinner, though he mostly only played with his own. When Barba finally finished, Carisi asked impatiently, “Can we talk now?”

Barba wiped his mouth delicately with his napkin and smiled sweetly at him. “Just a moment,” he said, standing to refill his glass of scotch. After he sat down again, he rolled up his sleeves, crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair and finally said, “Now we can talk.”

Though Carisi again rolled his eyes, he also subconsciously straightened, an almost nervous look flitting across his face. “So you know I took a half day at work today, right?” Barba nodded slowly. “Well, that’s because I had a job interview. And...they offered me the job.”

Barba brightened, grinning widely at him. “Sonny, that’s great,” he said with sincerity, and Carisi ducked his head and smiled. “The Brooklyn DA’s office is a great place to get your start and I know you’ll do wonderful work there.”

Carisi’s smile faltered slightly. “Actually, it’s not with the Brooklyn DA’s office.”

Barba’s brow furrowed slightly. “It’s not?” he asked. “I heard there might be a position opening in the Bronx DA’s office, but I didn’t think it had already been posted.”

“It’s not with any DA’s office,” Carisi said, a little hesitantly. “I was actually offered a pretty lucrative position with a law firm.”

“A law firm,” Barba repeated, tracing a finger around the rim of his glass, his expression unreadable. “You mean, as a defense attorney, not a prosecutor.”

Carisi shrugged. “Well, yeah, that is sorta the general idea. I just…” He faltered slightly at the look on Barba’s face. “I thought it might be a good opportunity.”

Barba’s expression darkened. “A good opportunity?” he repeated, his voice raising slightly. “Tell me, please, why in the world you would think that working as a defense attorney would be a good opportunity. Seriously. Lay out your reasons for me because I’m  _ dying _ to know.”

“Are you pissed at me?” Carisi asked defensively. “Why? Because I got a job that you didn’t set up for me? Or because you just don’t like defense attorneys?”

Barba glared at him. “I  _ don’t _ like defense attorneys, and with good reason,” he said icily. “Do you even understand what this ‘good opportunity’ will entail, that your bosses will trot you out for every high profile NYPD case and draw on your experience as a detective to exploit the smallest cracks they can find? Do you realize that you’ll be making sure that the worst monsters get off scot-free just because they can pay the absurd legal fees?”

Carisi rolled his eyes. “You don’t know that,” he said dismissively, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“And you told me that the most important thing to you was honoring your oath to protect and serve,” Barba shot back. “Tell me how this accomplishes that in any way, shape or form.”

For a moment, they both just glared at each other before Barba sighed and tossed back the rest of his scotch. “What is this really about?” he asked, getting up to pour himself another drink. “Because I don’t honestly believe that you want to be a defense attorney. Not unless you’ve been harboring a lot more from me than just that, and I prefer to think that we’re pretty honest with each other.”

Carisi sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his expression almost rueful. “You’re right,” he admitted reluctantly. “It’s not that I want to be a defense attorney. It’s just that...you should see how much money they’re offering.”

Barba paused mid-sip. “This is about money?” he asked, taken aback.

Shrugging, Carisi avoided Barba’s gaze. “I just...feel like I should be contributing more,” he mumbled.

“Why in the world would you feel like that?” Barba asked. “Have I done something to make you feel—”

“No,” Carisi said, cutting him off. “No, not at all. But we both know that you have a lot more money than I do.”

Barba took a sip of his scotch, something calculating in his expression. “That is true,” he said finally, clearly unsure of how to deny it. “But that hasn’t been a problem before now, which makes me question why all of a sudden it’s an issue.”

“It’s not all of a sudden,” Carisi told him, agitated. “I don’t like making less money than you. I don’t like having you buy me nice things when I can’t reciprocate.”

“Sonny, the nicest thing I’ve ever bought you was a $250 bottle of scotch when you passed the Bar, and I have it on good authority that it’s still sitting in your desk at SVU, unopened,” Barba said impatiently. “So what is this really about?”

Carisi hesitated for a moment before sighing heavily and telling him, “It’s just something your mother said.”

Barba stiffened. “My mother?” he asked quietly, swirling his scotch, his expression souring. “I’ve told her before not to get involved—”

“It’s not like that,” Carisi told him. “When we were at her place last week, when she was loading us up with more leftovers than we could carry because she’s convinced I’m skin and bones, you went out into the hallway to take a call, and your ma, she kissed me on the cheek and told me, ‘Take care of him, Sonny’.” Barba half-smiled at Carisi’s imitation of his mother. “‘Rafi needs someone to take care of him, and Dios knows he hasn’t let me in twenty years. So take care of him’.”

Barba sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. “So all of this stems from the fact that my mother thinks I can’t take care of myself?”

“No, it stems from the fact that I  _ want _ to take care of you,” Carisi said heatedly. “I  _ want _ to be able to give you everything you want and deserve. And sometimes — sometimes, Rafael, it really sucks that I can’t.”

“Sonny,” Barba sighed, slowly standing and crossing around the kitchen table to take Carisi’s hands in his. “Sonny, you  _ do _ take care of me. You take care of me in all the ways that matter. You love me, you make me feel safe and wanted. You challenge me — Lord knows how you challenge me.” Carisi smiled at that, and Barba let go of one of his hands to cup his cheek, rubbing his thumb across Carisi’s cheekbone. “You’ve made me a better man and given me something that I frankly didn’t even realize I had been looking for: a home.” He leaned in and kissed him, his hand sliding down to rest possessively on the back of Carisi’s neck. “You do take care of me, ok?” he said. “So forget about contributing financially or anything like that — let me take care of you in that way, at least for a little bit. Otherwise I’m the one not contributing anything to this.”

“That’s not true,” Carisi told him, still smiling, and he pulled Barba onto his lap to kiss him again. “You contribute a hell of a lot.”

“Oh yeah?” Barba asked, nuzzling against him and pressing a series of kisses against his jawline. “Like what?”

Carisi laughed. “Well, I’m not just gonna tell you that,” he said, grinning. “Especially when all it’ll do is stoke your ego.”

“Tease,” Barba said, sliding off of his lap to retrieve his glass of scotch from across the table. “But if you’re not going to tell me, you should at least tell Liv.”

“Liv?” Carisi asked. “Why?”

Barba raised his glass of scotch in a toast. “Because she told me the same exact thing when I told her we were together,” he said, leaning over Carisi and running his fingers lightly over Carisi’s tie. “‘Be sure to take care of Sonny’, she told me.”

Carisi stretched up as if to kiss him, but Barba pulled away, smirking. “And what did you say to her?” Carisi asked.

“The same thing I’ll say to you,” Barba answered, smiling as he pulled Carisi up and tugged him in the direction of the bedroom. “I told her that I intend to. And I do.”


End file.
